


Position

by anttna_T



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anttna_T/pseuds/anttna_T
Summary: “Fate lets you have her, and I have you.”---English is not my mother language plz be aware of that.





	Position

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked, but gods help me after i finished all seasons, the only thing remained in my head was this ship.  
> LoOk At thEm, sO mUch lOve And pAin
> 
> My English is very bad, but I think I should share my work, since there is very few fic of them ;_;  
> feel free to correct any bugs!!

    Rollo likes fucking from behind; against desks, against walls, against earth. Ragnar has seen how his brother fucking — fucking others — giant, giant as a bear, as a dark cloud enveloped the beneath body. His bump always louder then any sloppy sound, that thud THUD thud THUD resembles his leaping spirit, the weary, fury soul of wild beasts; he fucks resolutely, Ragnar has imagined that big hanging thing is only his pike, pike, pike, pike into an unploughed land; his land.

    However, when Ragnar is under Rollo he no longer thinks about bear or pike. Ragnar opens his mouth as less as possible, yet has to let out his moan, has to release the expanding pressure in the filed of his chest. “ _I am hot_ ,” his voice dried, laugh lingering still, " _You are burning_.” Burning flame raises behind his eyes and digs into his body with blood boiling, steam dropping, sweat that licked by Aegir the sea-god. A tongue gums the back of Ragnar’s neck, absorbing his fire and spirit.

    People say, when you walk alone in a forest at night and once feel been licked on the neck, never look back.  

    Ragnar grabs a handful of long hair, turns to lick Rollo’s chin.

    People say, wolves would bite down their throat as they turn.

    The blue-eyed viking bites down with a grin.

    Rollo fucks him forward as heavily as he’s going to pierce his cock into Ragnar’s stomach. Both hands hold his butt, both cheeks nipped his fingerprints. His face sideways, sucking the Adam’s apple upon Rollo, tongue teeth lips, soft and sharp, smooth and harsh, “Forgot you, aah — mute during sex.”

    A hand covers his face pushing Ragnar against the desk, Rollo’s chest follows against his back. Through leather, through shirts, through thick muscles, Ragnar still can feel that _thud THUD thud THUD_. “Be quiet, Ragnar,” his lips brushes Ragnar’s earhole, while ceaselessly fucking that giddy hole as well. “Damn, you are hot indeed.” he swaying thinly, yet his cock taking Ragnar’s body deeply.

    Blue eyes stare at him forthright between the gap of desk and cheek. There is not smiling, but happiness more than any time before.

    Rollo fucks from behind like a wolf, not means he doesn’t enjoy watching other swallow him, accept him.

    He even is fond of how Ragnar struggling and wanting his cock. Such immoral. He clutches Ragnar’s knife-sharpening hipbones, thumb wipes petty scars over his belly. Such incest. He tastes the juice dripping within the same cycle of life. _Such delicious_. He lowers his head, breathes the scorching gasps of him. “A bit,” Rollo has been surprised by how soft his voice is, “A bit, bit, let me in just a bit more.”

    Ragnar lifts his legs that can crash one man’s head now are around his waist naked, wrap him, lock him. When Rollo starts ploughing him, he holds his neck, drags them in and pushes them away, keeps their distance within a breath.

    His eyes are as busy as Rollo’s.

    And of course, Rollo wouldn’t complain that he can’t help but moans out every time Ragnar rides him. The joyfully twisting muscle, swing tail; cock rubbing on Rollo’s belly, wetting everywhere.

    However, when Ragnar kneels between his legs, mouth fills with his length has always shoved Rollo into the ocean of desire easily. So, so easily. Watching Ragnar slowly slides onto floors, his cock already shivered. Ragnar licks his lips, hands nastily touching himself, rolling his fleshy shape, blue eyes pinpricking Rollo’s heart. “C’mere, my brother,” That smile dangerous yet evil enough, for Loki’s sake, Rollo so, so urges to wipe this off by his cock. Ragnar allows Rollo fucking his throat roughly, he offers tongue, offers harmonious tremble, offers graceful smiling blue eyes — those Valhalla-excluded-fucked-cursed _blue eyes_ — Rollo grabs his ears, fingers buckle on the bare skin as he willfully taking Ragnar’s mouth.

    He offers submissiveness. Ragnar sucks his fat dickhead, laps every pulse of his prick, swallows his length likes he just tied on it. “Look at you,” he rips out a deep groan, tightens up fingers. Yes fuck yes, this fucking gods blessed crazy bastard laughs even when choked on a cock.

    But Rollo knows, he knows if it’s an opportune moment, Ragnar will also forget to grin. Just once, there is no any sharp angle above his lips, there is no any ice-cold happiness within his eyes. He curls Rollo’s tongue with his, tightly brushes their bearded face. He doesn’t hold groans, and Rollo wishes his sound could loud enough to let gods know that he is no longer able to escape. Rollo’s cock, Rollo’s fucking, Rollo. Rollo. His brother whines his name over and over again, those shaking blue eyes, seem like some dying beasts, some shudder beyond the Nine Worlds.

    He offers weakness. The impression of weakness that cannot be showed as a warrior, a viking, especially cannot be expanded by a cock of one blood relation.

    Rollo stops on a spot where makes Ragnar quiver, and starts to hit there directly. Ears echo their moans and growls, “Say my name loudly,” he puts forth his strength to press Ragnar into bed, hand hoops his neck, “let them,” suddenly Loki gives him greedy and villainous smile across his normally firm lips, “let our great shieldmaiden be aware of her husband,” that word bitter than snake gall, once bites through the venom shall spread over every breathing vein, “that her husband will never, ever belong to her.”

    “No,” Ragnar’s eyes red as if they’re on fire and steam filled inside, “no, the fate — _fate has not_...” 

    “Fate lets you have her, and I have you.”

    Ragnar raises head, draws back corners of his mouth.

    Yet he still doesn’t smile. Like rapidly passed through the glacier and blaze, cold and hot mingled in his stomach. _He has never smiled_.

    The viking clasps his hair, pulls Rollo in front of him. For one moment, something far outstripped growing in those eyes, “It is you who fuck with me, not Fate.”

 

    END


End file.
